


And The Lake Lay Between Them

by senalishia



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aftercare, Age Difference, Alcohol, Art, Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Experience Difference, First Time Together, Freezing instead of saying no, Guilt, Hand Jobs, Incest, Injured Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nipple Play, Post-Coital Cuddling, Power Imbalance, Sex for Favors, Sex for Safety, Societal Homophobia, The Oath of Feanor, The lack of a no is not the same as a yes, Uncle/Nephew Incest, like actual creepy cross-generation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 14:08:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17602790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/senalishia/pseuds/senalishia
Summary: Maedhros will do anything to heal the rift between the houses of the Noldor--and spending years in captivity to Morgoth has greatly expanded his idea of what "anything" might include. Illustrated by the author.





	And The Lake Lay Between Them

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sleepless_Malice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepless_Malice/gifts).



> Written for My Slashy Valentine 2019. Requester asked "I'd LOVE LOVE LOVE to see some R / NC-17 rated content for Maedhros/Fingolfin, with lots of guilt and constant denial and pining, and more guilt :D I'm dying for this FOR YEARS" 
> 
> I live to serve.
> 
> This fic is set just after the Noldor arrive in Beleriand, and so Quenya names are used throughout. A quick guide for those who are just beginning to tip forward into the rabbit hole that is the Silmarillion fandom: 
> 
> Maitimo - Maedhros  
> Nolofinwë - Fingolfin  
> Feänáro - Feänor  
> Tyelcormo - Celegorm  
> Findecáno - Fingon  
> Irissë - Aredhel  
> Turucáno - Turgon  
> Angaráto - Angrod  
> Curufinwë - Curufin  
> Carnistir - Caranthir

“If there lay no grievance between us, lord, still the kingship would rightly come to you, the eldest here of the house of Finwë, and not the least wise.”

Maitimo knelt before his uncle Nolofinwë and offered him the crown of Finwë, which his father Fëanáro had worn until his death. He could not make as elegant a presentation as he might have with two hands and a functional shoulder. It would do, however; the important part was to project as much humility as he could manage.

His brothers would range from disapproving to furious when they learned what he was doing, but none of them really understood. He knew so much more now about the strengths--and weaknesses--of their Enemy. He knew that to have even the hope of reclaiming the Silmarils, the Noldor must be united.

Nolofinwë took the crown, but set it aside on a small, elegantly carved table, one of the only pieces of furniture that adorned the meeting hall of his house on the shores of Mithrim. “If wisdom had guided our choices from the beginning, much evil may have been averted,” he answered with very little warmth, “and that evil has not and indeed cannot be fully redressed. How can I be sure, how can my people be sure, that the house of Fëanáro truly means to follow, and to be our allies?”

How indeed? Maitimo didn’t know yet if he could keep his brothers and their people in line, much less how to prove it to Nolofinwë's satisfaction. He lowered himself further to the ground. In the dungeons of the Enemy, demonstrating proper deference had been a survival skill. He knew how to mollify any number of terrors. What would appease a lord of the Noldor?

He pressed his lips to the toe of Nolofinwë's boot. “Our loyalty to our kin may have been forgotten for a moment, but never completely abandoned.” That proved as much as he could say before his voice started trembling. He gritted his teeth, willing calm to come back to him.

But for second after disquieting second, Nolofinwë’s shaky breathing was his only answer. No, no, his words had only angered his uncle further. Every muscle ached with suppressed tension. How did he fix this? Nothing mattered except getting him on their side. He _could not_ fail.

He acted on instinct. He must have, because if he had thought for even one moment he would never have done it. Another lesson from his captivity: when something powerful turned its ire on you, offering to provide a little pleasure was sometimes the least painful way out. He rose up on his knees and lay his head just below Nolofinwë's waist, his hand on Nolofinwë’s upper thigh, his intent unmistakable--and then his brain started working again. _He is a Noldo, he is your_ uncle _, this is just going to make everything worse--_

Nolofinwë exhaled softly. Ran his fingers delicately across Maitimo's brow until they brushed up against his hair. Maitimo's body decided it was safest to not move until obviously invited to do so. Although the door lay slightly ajar, there was at least no one else in the room to witness his supreme misstep.

Nolofinwë's hand trailed down his cheek and came to rest under his chin, then exerted a modest but unrelenting pressure until Maitimo found it prudent to scramble to his feet and then necessary to steady himself with a hand on Nolofinwë's torso. Before he could straighten to his full height, Nolofinwë was pressing his lips against Maitimo's, far longer and with more ardor than could ever be considered proper between kinsmen. Maitimo was too bewildered to reciprocate even if he'd wanted to, but he relaxed a little, finally. Did this mean his offer had been accepted? _(Which_ offer?)

Nolofinwë broke off the kiss only to murmur in his ear “Come to my bedroom later tonight. We may have more to discuss.” Then he released Maitimo, turned, and strode out of the room.

* * *

What had he done?

Nolofinwë left the room, left the house, left the scattering of more and less permanent structures in which his people were currently settled. He did not stop walking until he had come far around to the west side of the lake, where nothing made its home but dragonflies and wading birds.

What had just happened?

Maitimo had come to speak with him. Maitimo had been very concerned that their peoples reconcile as soon as possible, the better to oppose their mutual Enemy. Maitimo had _given up his claim to the kingship_ in pursuit of that goal.

Nolofinwë had finally gotten what he had wanted for half his life: an assurance that the Noldor would not suffer under incompetent leadership. It was not that he craved power or thought himself without equal in his ability to govern well. He was all too aware of his own shortcomings; he had no illusions of ever being as great a king as Finwë had been. But this whole tragic series of events had come about because he had been--justifiably, it turned out--terrified at the thought of his paranoid, reclusive half-brother trying to lead _anything_.

Maitimo was not his father, no matter how much evil he had let Feänáro lead him into. Nolofinwë had worked alongside his nephew for years and seen him develop real skill in planning and leadership. Maitimo had a deep love for his people and had shown impeccable judgement in a number of difficult situations. Under other circumstances, Nolofinwë would have been able to tolerate Maitimo as king.

But his people had suffered--irreparably in some ways, so many had _died_ \--and they blamed the house of Fëanáro. That was why he had been so frustrated with Maitimo this afternoon. He wasn't wrong that this rift had to be healed, but it would not be easy, no matter how much they wanted it. So much had been lost, and much would need to be forgiven before the Noldor could be whole once more.

And then Maitimo had done--that. He couldn't avoid thinking about it forever. He wouldn't be out here watching birds snatch frogs out of the reeds if he were merely deciding how to judge whether Fëanáro's people were sufficiently penitent. Maitimo’s mouth had been so warm against his.

 _No!_ Was he really so depraved? Was he worthy to lead his people, after all? He ransacked his mind, trying to explain why he had given in so easily. He’d thought he had better self-control than that. He should have resisted, but the opportunity had taken him so by surprise. Could he not have done _anything_ more appropriate in response to Maitimo's terrifying offer? Not that kissing him was the worst he could have done, he might have let Maitimo-- _stop it!_ Varda help him! (He'd forfeited Her aid though, hadn't he?)

He wasn’t being honest with himself. The fault was entirely his own. Even if he could not have foreseen being faced with this decision, he’d started down the path long ago, the first time he made the choice to indulge in improper thoughts about his nephew.

He'd thought it was safe. He had been delightfully married to a beautiful, intelligent woman (and he shied from further thoughts of _her_ , he was emotional enough already and would prefer to return to the house without any signs of uncontrollable weeping). The Valar had been clear in their instruction on proper marriage between a man and a woman, and nobody talked openly about any other kind of attraction in Valinor. Actually acting on such an attraction would have been unthinkable; men taking pleasure with other men was a primitive practice the Eldar were supposed to have left behind in Middle-earth.

Well. Look where he was.

Indeed, the Grey Elves they’d had contact with seemed to consider relations between two men (or even two women) to be more like a mildly embarrassing bad habit than an unthinkable perversion. No Elves of any kind that he knew of, however, looked favorably on such feelings being turned toward the children of one's own brother. Did it make a difference that Fëanáro was not his full brother by blood? Was really the question he ought to be asking?

It wasn't just Maitimo's beauty that had drawn him in. (That gorgeous hair--he'd touched it today.) He hadn't realized until many years into his marriage that he bore an inclination to find men physically desirable that way. But his nephew was also thoughtful, courteous, attentive to his duties as a prince of the Noldor--qualities he must have inherited from his mother, if anywhere. And the only one of his brothers with any desire to learn statecraft, which had led to him and Nolofinwë working closely together more and more over the years. There had been many opportunities to quietly appreciate the radiance of his body and spirit. And if every once in a while Nolofinwë indulged in furtive fantasies of what might have blossomed between the two of them if they had found each other in a far different Song?

There had been no possible risk of coming anywhere near the line where fantasy crossed into reality. He’d thought he was safe.

One kiss, that was all the sin he'd committed as of yet. One kiss and his parting words to Maitimo, which he shuddered to recall. Surely neither could compare to the spilt blood and brazen rebellion by which he was doomed already.

And nothing needed proceed any farther than that. Maitimo was fully grown, wasn't he, and able to decide for himself not to do anything he didn't truly desire. Nolofinwë hadn't even officially accepted his offer of kingship, there was no way what he had said could have been taken as a formal order. He expected to pass the evening without seeing Maitimo again, and could only hope that this incident would be forgotten and any awkwardness between them ignored.

And if Maitimo did come as he had asked? If he had to choose again, would he have the strength to turn him away?

* * *

Maitimo had started back around the east side of the lake, intent on leaving the whole debacle behind him and returning to the southern shore. But he'd spent a good deal of energy already on the walk over, and even an easy pace on level ground tired him too quickly. When he stopped to rest, he also stopped to think.

Nolofinwë's response had been unexpected, certainly. But it was interest, not disgust or rejection which could have meant irreparable damage to their relationship. At least this way he might have something Nolofinwë wanted. _Come to my bedroom_ , he'd said. It was not hard to infer his intentions.

Maitimo was willing to sacrifice anything he could give in order to win back Nolofinwë's favor toward his family. Anything to begin knitting back together the bonds that would make the Noldor strong. And realistically, the worst uncle would or could do to him would hardly compare to the least of what he'd done to survive before.

He hadn't been kissed like that in a very, very long time.

Nolofinwë was a bit nearer of kin than it was proper to desire, or he might even call the task pleasant. His adolescent self, a few hundred years ago, certainly would have thought it so. When he was young, he'd agonized over the realization that he only desired men, never women as was natural. One hopeless infatuation had seemed little different from another. His uncle--strong, charismatic, and not so much older than he--had been forbidden for so many reasons that they all blurred together. And yet the many excuses Maitimo had found to work late nights at the palace had not been only a means of avoiding his father.

He examined his one remaining hand, followed the scars running up both arms. The bandage still covering the end of his right wrist had discolored in places; he must be bleeding again. He'd see if he could make sure that was cleaned up by tonight; he could hardly be called beautiful anymore, but he wouldn't go into this with anything less than his best effort. He checked his hair by feel. Tyelcormo had plaited it into a loose braid for him last night, but some of the shorter bits, where they'd cut off what had been too damaged to spare, had slipped free. He tucked them back in as best he could.

He understood why Nolofinwë was so furious with him. By what he'd heard from his brothers and the cousins who would still talk to him, burning the ships had resulted in more deaths than all the blood on both sides shed at Alqualondë. He and his people had much to ask forgiveness for. He didn't expect reunification to be easy, only vitally necessary if they were ever to exact justice against their true enemy. Nolofinwë’s people loved their lord. If Maitimo could win him over, they would follow him.

He turned and started walking back to the settlement on the northern shore. He had a plan. Do this one, not so difficult thing, give Nolofinwë what he wanted and soon enough--

_\--death we will deal him ere Day's ending--_

\--he would have all he wanted as well.

* * *

“Maitimo!” As soon as he entered the house, Maitimo barely escaped being tackled by Findecáno, who checked his momentum at the last moment and embraced his cousin somewhat more gently. “You're here! They said you'd come, and then that you'd left. I thought I'd missed you entirely!”

Maitimo half-heartedly patted Findecáno on the shoulder. He didn't take great pleasure in seeing him now, given what he’d come here to do, though he supposed he owed his savior some consideration at least. He loved Findecáno as much as any of his own younger brothers. What would his reaction be if he knew what was about to take place between his best friend and his own father? They would be discreet, of course, but if it came to it, was this friendship a sacrifice Maitimo was willing to make as well? “Your father and I still have business to discuss.” Smile. “And of course I wouldn't leave without saying hello to you.”

“Is this business anything to do with the crown I saw in the reception hall?” Findecáno looked up at him with raised eyebrows. “If you--Maitimo, did you walk all the way here? You should barely he out of bed yet. You don't look well at all, come sit down.” Maitimo let himself be led to a low bench just a few steps away. The walk back had, in fact, spent most of his remaining energy. He was more or less hoping that anything Nolofinwë wanted to do tonight involved a lot of lying down.

“Thank you. And yes, it is about that.” How much of the political situation, excluding the obvious, did Findecáno need or want to know about right now?

By the expression on his face, he suspected enough. “Is it really so important that it couldn't wait a few weeks for you to heal some more? Look, you're bleeding! Here, let me take care of that.”

Maitimo sat and tried to conserve his strength and allowed Findecáno to mother-hen at him, changing his bandages and offering him what was left of the supper he'd missed. The food restored him a bit, although he felt vaguely guilty for letting his cousin unknowingly help him prepare for his coming task.

Finally, Maitimo made excuses to take his leave, pleading that he still had this matter with Nolofinwë to see to (true) and promising that of course he would not depart again without saying goodbye (probably a lie). He let Findecáno depart first and waited to move until he was well out of sight.

He hadn't ever actually been told which room was Nolofinwë's, but could make a confident guess based on myriad small details, from the layout of the house to the scents coming from behind each door. Lavender and leather polish, first off the north corridor, that would be Irissë. Next door, currently cold and empty, Turucáno, who thank any Power that would still hear him was currently out on an expedition to the coast. Findecáno's would be after that, and then the corridor ended. (His stomach rolled unexpectedly for a moment; there should be four, and who knew whether that could be counted against him.) Which meant that Nolofinwë was likely the single door up the passage to the right, from under which a dim light flickered.

He looked and listened once more for anyone nearby, then approached the door and knocked softly. For quite a while there was no answer. Excuses formed on his lips to explain his presence in the event that he was mistaken. Something near the truth would do, that he was unfamiliar with the house and--

The sound of footsteps, and then the door opened just a sliver and revealed that he'd guessed right after all. His heart beat faster, unbidden. Time to make this work.

Nolofinwë hesitated for a moment before collecting himself and opening the door further. “Maitimo. You-- please, come in.” Maitimo stepped inside and the door was closed immediately behind him.

The room mirrored the rest of the house, furnishings sparse but well made. Exactly what he would expect of the Noldor learning to survive in a new land. The only light came from a well-laid fire.

“Thank you.” Maitimo, to begin with, moved in rather close and lay his hand on Nolofinwë's shoulder. “I hope that tonight we can find our way to an understanding. Something that will benefit both of our peoples.”

Nolofinwë touched his hand briefly, then darted away in quick steps. “That is my hope as well. May I offer you something to drink?” He gestured to a crystal decanter of red wine and two cups fashioned of wood.

Maitimo considered. He couldn’t say whether he'd partaken of anything stronger than the fermented mash fed to prisoners since that fateful festival under the last light of the Trees. He didn't know how he would tolerate any amount of wine in his current state. However, it wouldn't do to be an ungracious guest, or to reveal any weakness, either. “Please.” And if he leaned casually against the desk here, he was pretty sure he could hide how much it was supporting him.

Nolofinwë filled both cups and passed one to him. Maitimo drank, cautiously at first, to gauge his body's reaction. The taste had some bright, unfamiliar notes. He drank just a bit more, trying to pin down what the flavor reminded him of.

“This was one of the first joint projects between us and the Grey Elves,” Nolofinwë mentioned. “Since the rising of the Sun, many fruits have flourished that were unknown here before, but familiar in some form to the Noldor. Our neighbors were already quite adept already at winemaking with the plants they knew, and were eager to expand their skill.” He looked more at his cup than at Maitimo as he spoke.

“You've found the inhabitants agreeable, then? I hadn't--haven't had much opportunity to speak with them personally yet.” He didn't actually care to turn the conversation to why he hadn't yet had that opportunity. He took another drink.

“Yes, quite so, at least those that dwell here in the north. Farther inland there is tell of...other folk.”

“Oh? Of what sort?” If anything other than talk were going to happen tonight, Nolofinwë didn't seem inclined to be very forward about it. But judging by that kiss this afternoon, the desire was there, and appeasing it could only be to his advantage. He would have to make the first move. Drink.

“The people of Elwë the Lost. He still lives, as it turns out. I don't know if you knew.” He did; Elu Thingol and his terrifying Maia wife were much complained of among the orc armies. “But any meeting with him we will need to handle more carefully, I believe.”

With the blood of his brother’s people still staining their swords? Carefully indeed. “Does he have any interest in getting to know his niece and nephews?” As he spoke, Maitimo eased himself away from the desk, requiring somewhat more effort than he'd expected to keep his balance. Leaned in close to Nolofinwë and placed his right hand--

He barely restrained the filthiest curse words he knew from passing his lips. He had _one_ hand, and it was currently holding his drink. A bandaged, bloody stump was not going to be of use in seducing anybody. He drained the cup and set it on the desk.

“That is our hope,” Nolofinwë responded. “Angaráto intends to…” Maitimo placed his _left_ hand on Nolofinwë's’s shoulder, “to travel east soon and…” trailed it slowly inward until it curled around the back of his neck, “ah, and request an audience with him.”

Maitimo considered what to say in return, but the wine was definitely starting to have an effect, and he didn't know if he currently had the ability to find the right words. It would have to be something encouraging, but not...not…

He just kissed Nolofinwë instead. It was his uncle's turn to be surprised, but he began to reciprocate more quickly than Maitimo had earlier. Probably shouldn't let the first one go on too long--but it was not so unpleasant--

When they finally broke away, one of Nolofinwë's hands had found its way around Maitimo's waist, the other rested on his chest. He gazed at Maitimo, looked like he might say something, but then reached up and stroked Maitimo's hair instead, running his fingers along a lock that had once more escaped its braid.

Maitimo's hand stiffened slightly behind Nolofinwë’s head. His stomach clenched. The wine had possibly been a bad idea. He wasn't at his best, he was going to miss something, make another mistake. He stilled, almost didn't breath, as Nolofinwë began unfastening his braid. The silver holly-leaf clip holding the end had been lent to him by Curufinwë; he oughtn't let it get lost if it was removed. Without moving his head, he flicked his gaze to the side; Nolofinwë had set it on the table. He needn't worry about that, then. Nolofinwë was running his hands through Maitimo's hair now. Drew out a long lock and reverently pressed his lips to it.

Maitimo forced himself to wait until it was released and fell into its natural place once more before he took an unsteady step back. He awkwardly loosened the sash around his waist and removed layers of clothing until his chest was bare. Then he moved in for another kiss, messy and wet.

Nolofinwë broke this one off first. He brushed his fingers almost hesitantly over where Maitimo's pectorals would have been if he still had any muscle mass to speak of. Eventually his fingers found their way to the nipple and, more confidently now, he fondled one, then the other. Maitimo arched his back into the gentle touch, surprised at the ease with which he could appear responsive. Nolofinwë traded hands for lips, gliding over and then nipping at the sensitive bit of skin.

Maitimo had not come here seeking his own pleasure, but he had found it nonetheless. His soft moans were unsuppressed but unfeigned, and only seemed to encouraged Nolofinwë. Hands drifted down his back, over his hips and buttocks; kisses roamed over his chest, his shoulder, his neck, and finally back to his mouth.

Then Nolofinwë sighed and wrapped his arms around Maitimo’s waist, hands only brushing against the loose tips of his hair. He pulled their bodies tightly together and rested his forehead on Maitimo’s shoulder. Maitimo was left figuring out what to do with his own arms, opting at last to pass his fingers lightly along Nolofinwë’s still-braided hair. This elicited some small, pleased noises.

Good. He was succeeding so far. With their bodies this close, he could feel how hard Nolofinwë had gotten--so had he, actually, when had that happened? He let Nolofinwë grind unsurely against his hip, and pushed through the fog in his brain to pondered how he might best be of service.

He was getting the idea that Nolofinwë, married and father of four children, had nevertheless not much experience making love to other men. Something simple, then, that Maitimo could mostly take charge in doing and wouldn't need to explain first.

He dropped to his knees--easier than standing anyway. Pulled aside the tunic, hose, and underclothes in front of him. Nolofinwë stuttered some but didn't resist or object. As soon as it was exposed, Maitimo took the whole length of Nolofinwë's cock in his mouth without hesitation. He had to adjust his approach almost at once; although he'd trained himself not to choke, there was actually rather a lot of it.

Hands on his head were not unexpected in this position, but he focused on the motion of his tongue and the sound of Nolofinwë's increasingly heavy breathing. Once he found a decent rhythm, Maitimo took the chance for some added stimulation. He let his hand travel down Nolofinwë’s back and then in between his legs until he found his hole and applied just a bit of pressure; that was usually well appreciated. Nolofinwë began to rock his hips more forcefully against Maitimo, who rolled with the movement, intensifying the slide of lips over flesh and only occasionally ensuring he could still breathe.

“Maitimo, I--” Nolofinwë said, and then gasped and came, a hot wave filling Maitimo's mouth. He recognized in time that this was far too nice a floor to spit on, and swallowed everything instead.

Maitimo wiped his lips on his shoulder as Nolofinwë stepped away and fumblingly put his clothes back in order. Maitimo glanced up, eventually, but remained on the floor contemplating the least awkward way to get to standing. Eventually, Nolofinwë offered him a hand and helped him to his feet.

He’d meant to say something assertive like “Are you satisfied now?”, but his vision started to go black and Nolofinwë had to support him almost entirely as dizziness rose over him.

“Come lay down,” Nolofinwë said, sounding almost exasperated, and half carried him over to the bed. That sounded too tempting not to accept at this point, advantageous or not, weak or not, and he flopped down and let Nolofinwë tuck blankets around him.

Once he got settled and his wits started to return, he shifted uncomfortably and noted he was still aroused. He hadn't come here to get his own needs met, but he couldn't seem to dismiss them so easily. He considered whether he could tend to himself discreetly (probably not discreetly enough) or whether he should just excuse himself entirely (but he was so cozy, and he didn’t like the idea of anyone catching him in the passageway in that state.)

Then Nolofinwë lay down beside him and  held him from behind, warm arms caressing his torso and gradually drifting downward. He murmurred in Maitimo's ear, “Should I--” then took a deep breath he could feel against his back, “I’ve never done anything of this kind, with a man. How is it usually, that is, what do--what can I do for you?”

“Help me defeat the Enemy and win back the Silmarils.”

Nolofinwë was silent for a few breaths. “Ah. Of course.”

Wait. That probably wasn't the answer he’d been looking for. You needed to work up to that kind of request. He was getting it wrong again.

Nolofinwë began to pull away, but Maitimo caught him by the wrist. If he was offering, maybe he should just let him reciprocate. “Just take it in your hand, the same way you'd do yourself,” he suggested.

“All right. I think I can do that.”

Nolofinwe leaned over him for a moment and returned with his hand slick with some sort of oil or salve, faintly floral smelling. Maitimo helped to sufficiently unclothe himself, then settled back into Nolofinwë's embrace. A hand, large, strong but careful, slid over and enveloped him; its motion at once soothed and heightened his need. Shaky breaths turned to soft whimpers; he thrust his hips forward into Nolofinwë's touch as for a moment he let himself be consumed by the sensation he sought. That touch seemed to grow lighter and more delicate the closer he approached, though, and he whined and writhed with frustration. Then finally the warm pressure returned in full and pushed him straight into overwhelming pleasure. As he returned to himself he found he was trembling.

He floated in drowsy satiety, half-aware of Nolofinwë quietly cleaning up around him. His thoughts kept trying to coalesce around the thing he knew he was supposed to be doing, until Nolofinwë lay down beside him in the bed once more.

“This can't happen again,” Nolofinwë said, as his hand meandered lightly over Maitimo's back. Maitimo tensed, and remembered. Had his uncle not been sufficiently pleased by his service? If this was his only chance, he needed to make his case to--to get everyone back on the same side, to fight the Enemy together-- “I shouldn't have let you do this at all, it wasn't right. I'm so sorry.”

Nolofinwë was apologizing to _him_? Was he supposed to feel trespassed against, taken advantage of? Maybe he could fix this after all. The right words were still difficult to come by, however. “I think the balance of our debt still lies in your favor.”

“I wasn't fair to you about that either. My brother did much for which only Mandos can now hold him to account. They say you opposed him in the burning of the ships.” He began to massage Maitimo's shoulders more forcefully. “Unfortunately, though, I do believe I must accept your offer of the kingship. My people will not feel safe under anyone else.”

Maitimo squirmed under his touch. He knew he had once understood the gratifying ache that accompanied relief of tension, but now all that seemed relevant was that this touch was causing him pain. He ducked away and rolled over so that he faced Nolofinwë. “I would not have suggested it if I didn't agree. But we must work together, keep our peoples united. There's no other way to accomplish our goals.”

“I know what your goals are, Maitimo, and I foresee that they may not always be as noble as you think they are. But to fight our Enemy, the slayer of my father--that I can promise I will do, with all of my strength. And all the Noldor are my people, now, including yours. Can you guarantee their loyalty?”

Time to finish this. He felt the words flow out of him. “I will. To the best of my ability, I, my family, and all those who would follow me shall recognize you, Nolofinwë, as High King of the Noldor, and be obedient in every command and loyal in every hardship to you and to your heirs. Never again shall you be abandoned.” Maitimo kissed him briefly, one more time, on the lips.

Nolofinwë’s lips tightened and he stroked Maitimo's cheek. “We will make this work. I promise you that in return.” He turned away and rose to his feet.

Maitimo prepared to do the same. “I should go--”

“Stay right where you are.” Nolofinwë said sternly. “My first order as your king. Don't worry, if someone catches you in here it shouldn't be too hard to explain. You really do look terrible. You need rest.” He began rummaging around near the desk. “Did your brothers actually let you walk halfway around the lake by yourself?”

Maitimo obediently buried himself in blankets once more and found that relief at having accomplished what he set out to do was rapidly sapping his remaining energy. “Carnistir's the only one who knew,” he murmured, “and that’s only because I needed help figuring out where they'd put all my clothes. They're going to be furious when they find out I dispossessed our entire line.”

“I have every confidence you will be able to handle it,” Nolofinwë assured him. “You've proved yourself quite the diplomat.” And Maitimo let himself drift away to the scratch of pen on parchment.


End file.
